Flying Lesson
by CupCakeyyy
Summary: Written for the QLFC - Harry teaches Hermione how to ride a broom.


I wrote this story for 'The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition' for the position of Chaser Two (Reserve). The Kenmare Kestrals chose Hermione as a character and 'Ride' as a verb.

Have fun reading :D Hope, you'll like it!

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**Flying Lesson**

_Why again am I doing this?_ Hermione thought as she was floating approximately sixty feet above the ground and in constant danger of losing the grip on the old, tattered broomstick she was currently sitting on and falling, probably breaking every existing bone in her body in the process.

Hermione groaned. She hated heights and she hated flying! She had despised it in her first year, when she and her classmates had to learn how to ride a broom. She had been so unbelievably nervous about the outcome of that supposedly simple lesson as she hadn't been able to learn the basics from reading one book after the other. The only thing she had been able to find out was that she had to hold onto the broomstick and not fall of. Brilliant. She could have come to that conclusion on her own – thank you very much. She had read nearly every tome on flying the library currently held, but she lacked the experience. Just like now. Why did she agree to this? She couldn't remember.

Trembling, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to take a deep breath to calm herself. _It's okay, Hermione. Harry is on the ground. Nothing will happen to you. _When she dared to open her eyes even the slightest bit, she had the feeling of falling. The world tilted around her, making her dizzy. It was all she could do not to fall off or vomit on Harry, who was standing below her, watching her with an interested and slightly worried expression. At least, that's what she hoped he was doing.

"Come on, fly around for a bit", Hermione opened her eyes, grabbed onto the broomstick so hard she was sure it would break any moment and leaned forward slightly to peek over to her best friend, standing sixty feet below and waving to her, grinning madly. She hadn't noticed that she hadn't been moving one inch from the spot she had been at for the last ten minutes. She was just too terrified to even try to impress him.

"I can't", her grip on the broom tightened even further, if that was still possible. She didn't plan to move on this probably fifty year old broom, flying forward or backwards and definitely not look down to see where she could land. Which, she knew, would have to happen soon anyway if she didn't plan on spending the night in mid-air. Which she didn't. Of that she was one hundred percent sure.

A sudden _Whoosh _next to her announced Harry's arrival. She opened her right eye just wide enough to see him floating next to her. He was sitting on his Firebolt, a broom, on which she would never in her entire life want to sit. Even if she had both feet on the ground. Seeing him slouching on his broom, not even bothering to hold onto it with even one hand, nearly gave her the rest. She squeezed her eyes shut again, trying desperately to keep her dinner in her stomach. She didn't want the world to know what she had eaten.

"For Merlin's sake, Harry! Please hold onto your Firebolt! At least with one hand", she whimpered, as a gust of ice cold wind pushed her broom about a meter backwards. She didn't feel that well anymore.

A hand on her shoulder caused her to squeal and nearly lose hold of her broom. "Harry!"

"Sorry", he murmured, as he slid his arm around her waist and pulled her and her broom towards him, giving her a slight feeling of security. She couldn't kid herself. If she were to fall, he wouldn't be able to hold onto her or his broom. She would take him with her and they would both crash onto the hard, cold – and probably frozen – ground, sixty feet below them. _Oh, God, please help me!_

"Are you alright?" His breath tickled her ear, as he hugged her closer. She could feel his body heat through her cloak and jumper. She wished she had taken a scarf with her. But she couldn't have guessed what Harry had planned for her, could she? Who in their right mind would want to teach someone how to fly in November at night. Nobody – except for Harry. That was just her luck.

She shook her head, only increasing the spinning of the world around her, nearly causing her to lose her balance. She groaned. She had told him she didn't like heights! She had told him she didn't like flying! It was all entirely his fault!

"Come on", he whispered and with a firm tug, she was sitting in front of him, still floating in mid-air. Her old broom, which she had borrowed from the broom cupboard in which Madam Hooch used to stow the first year Flying Class brooms, Harry held in his left hand. His right was wrapped tightly around her waist, holding her close to his body.

Hermione squealed and hid her face behind her hands. But that action caused her to sit on Harry's broom with no means of stabilisation whatsoever. Oh, once they were on the ground, she would kill him! If they survived this whole fiasco, that is. Having Harry holding onto her soothed the spinning and the nausea she was feeling just enough for her to be able to realize what he had just done.

She gasped and tried to turn around to look at him and give him a scolding he wouldn't forget until this decade was over, but his arm tightened around her waist, making it impossible for her to turn around and look him in the eye. "How dare you! I could have fallen off and taken you with me and we would have both crashed onto the ground and… and…"

"Relax, Hermione", she could hear the smile that was currently lighting up his face. "Nothing happened, right?"

"But it could have", she was afraid, yes, but not stupid.

"But it didn't", he soothed her wild hair back, so he could whisper in her ear. "You're safe with me. Nothing's ever going to happen to you if I have a say in it."

Slowly but surely, the world around her stopped spinning and blood started to rush into her brain again, filling her head with more logical thoughts than ten minutes before. The pure panic she had felt had vanished and had left nothing but security and safety behind, accompanied with a feeling of thousands of butterflies inhabiting her belly and a slight irritation.

A new gust of wind pushed the broom they were sitting on backwards, but she didn't care, she didn't even fully notice. The only thing she felt was Harry's warm arm wrapped around her and his broad chest against her back. She felt at home.

"It's not really that bad once you get the hang of it", he whispered in her ear, causing goose bumps to cover her arms. His warm breath tickled her neck, as he pushed her hair out of his face and rested his chin on her shoulder. "Put your hands onto the handle and gently direct it to the left."

Hermione did as he asked and stirred the broom in the direction of the hoops at the end of the Quidditch Pitch, feeling the cold wind brush against her cheeks. "See? Not that difficult, is it?"

Hermione smiled. No, that wasn't difficult. Not with Harry sitting behind her and making sure she was safe. Maybe – just maybe – it hadn't been that bad of an idea…

**Word count: 1261**

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